The First Shot
by Shergar
Summary: A one-shot, inspired by a writer's challenge.


The First Shot

It had taken a couple of months for Steve Keller to settle into his new position as partner to Lieutenant Mike Stone in homicide. Vice had been interesting, but he really loved homicide now that he had found his feet. His relationship with Mike had settled into the beginning of a solid friendship, and Steve would never in a million years have dreamt that he would become friends with a man old enough to be his father.

The call came in as they drove around the district. Mike was half-looking for a snitch, but Steve suspected he was more interested in enjoying the lovely warm summer day. He didn't object to being outside either. He enjoyed driving and didn't mind that he did the lion's share of it.

"All units; shots fired. 2212 Union Street. Unit requires assistance."

"That's just round the corner," Steve said, glancing at Mike.

"Go!" Mike ordered. He slapped the light onto the roof as Steve flipped on the siren and grabbed the mic. "Inspectors 81 responding."

It took perhaps two minutes to reach the area. A slew of gunfire caused Steve to swerve the car across the street, effectively blocking it to prevent innocent drivers being shot. He scrambled from the car behind Mike and they both drew their weapons and peered cautiously over the bonnet.

This was not the first time Steve had drawn his weapon in his police career, but he had never fired it expect on the shooting range. He was a good shot, but it was the aspect he liked least about his job. He saw the windows of an office building were in smithereens and a cop lay on the ground, just a few yards away from the safety of his patrol car. The cop's partner was on the ground on the other side of the patrol car, clutching his leg.

"Give me some cover and I'll get over there," Steve urged Mike.

For an instant, he thought Mike was going to refuse. "Be careful," he cautioned. "When you get there, lay down some cover for me, all right?"

"Right," Steve agreed, having learned which battles to fight and which to leave alone. He braced himself. "Say when."

"Now!" Mike rose to fire over the bonnet of the car and Steve took to his heels. Bullets pinged off the ground around his feet, but none hit him. He skidded to a stop safely behind the patrol car and looked back, panting. Mike was looking keenly at him and nodded. Steve took a deep breath and popped up, firing at the building. Mike was beside him in moments.

Working together, they did what they could to help the injured cop. Steve peered cautiously around the edge of the car to assess as best he could the other cop. He was lying still, eyes closed, and Steve could not tell if he was dead or alive. "We need to get him back here," Steve told Mike.

"You bucking for a bullet?" Mike asked bluntly.

"No," Steve assured him. "But we can't leave him lying there."

"We've got to take the shooters out first," Mike reminded him. He glanced behind him as more patrol cars appeared. They were met with a hail of bullets, too. Both detectives ducked. "How much ammo does he have?" Mike wondered rhetorically.

"Too much," Steve replied absently. He was peering over the top of the car, searching for movement in the building. A bullet snapped in his direction and he ducked, not needing Mike's assistance as his partner pulled him down.

"What are you doing?" he snapped.

"My job!" Steve snapped back. "I can see only one person in there."

"That's always something," Mike agreed. He had grown remarkably fond of Steve, although he hadn't really wanted another almost-rookie to train up as a partner. Steve, however, despite something of a reckless streak, was shaping up to be a really good officer.

"Why don't we try negotiating?" Steve asked. "Ask him if we can get the injured officer off the street there? If he's distracted enough by that, a sharpshooter might be able to take him down."

Mike looked at the younger man with admiration. That was a good suggestion. He slithered along the ground and opened the car door, reaching for the mic. "This is Inspectors 81. Is there a sharpshooter at this incident?"

"A sharpshooter will be there in a few minutes," the dispatcher replied.

"10-4," Mike replied. "Let me know when he arrives."

They waited in tense silence until the call came through. Mike used the radio to inform the shooter of what he wanted and within another few minutes, everyone was in place. He then rose to his knees and called to the shooter. "Hey, this is the police. Throw down your weapon."

The response was another hail of bullets. Mike flinched as one pinged off the car beside his ear. He exchanged a glance with Steve. "Please, can we send someone to get the injured officer?"

There was silence. After a few agonising minutes, when Mike was ready to add to his plea, the response came back. "All right. But I want to see the pig lay down his gun first."

"All right," Mike called back. He nodded at Steve, who slowly rose to his feet, his arms raised and his gun held loosely in one hand. Moving carefully, he placed his gun on the trunk and kept his arms raised as he edged round the car.

It was nerve wracking in a way that Steve didn't expect. He was utterly vulnerable and only too aware that the shooter had him in his sights and range. He walked to the downed cop and dropped to his knees. He reached for a pulse and the world suddenly exploded around him.

Later, Steve realised that it wasn't an explosion. The sharpshooter had seen the target moving forward, his gun raised, to shoot Steve. Instantly, he took the shot offered to him. He was successful, but what nobody had anticipated was that as the shooter died, his finger contracted on the trigger of his weapon and sent a spray of deadly bullets out towards Steve.

Steve threw himself over the cop on the ground, protecting him with his own body. Beneath his questing fingers, the man's pulse throbbed weakly. Steve lay there, aware that he had to wait for the all clear before he moved. It had been a close call for them all.

The all clear came and before Steve could do more than start to push himself up, Mike was there, clutching his arm. "Steve! Stay still!"

"What?" Steve continued to push upright, moving off the body underneath him. Mike's attempts to stop him didn't help the process. "I'm okay, Mike."

"No you're not, buddy boy," Mike replied grimly and Steve raised an eyebrow. _Buddy boy?_ Then Mike's words sank in.

"I'm not okay?" he asked. "What do you mean?" He tried to look down his body, but Mike was pushing him onto the ground and all but kneeling on his chest to keep him still. "Mike?" Steve could feel no pain, but Mike's reaction was making him feel panicky. "What is it?"

"It looks like you've been shot," Mike told him. "In the back, so stay still!"

Paling, Steve was suddenly aware of a burning sensation across his lower back. He looked up at his mentor and drew strength from the fact that Mike was still calm. "Bad?" he asked.

"I don't know," Mike replied. "I don't think so, but we'll wait to see what the doctors say. Meantime, stay still."

It took several minutes for the ambulances to arrive. The injured cops were bundled up and taken away as quickly as possible. Steve, strapped to a backboard and unable to move anything apart from his eyes, was touched and grateful that Mike came in the ambulance with him. The burning in his back had turned to pain and although Steve had full sensation in his legs, fear was eating at him.

It wasn't a long wait, really, Mike realised. It just felt that way. It couldn't have been more than 20 minutes after their arrival at the hospital that the doctor appeared. "Lieutenant Stone? I've been treating your partner, Inspector Keller. The wound on his back is quite superficial. More of a deep crease. I've cleaned and stitched it and he should be off work no more than two weeks. He's ready to go home now."

"Thank you, doctor," Mike replied.

"He'll be able to get around by himself in a day or so, but in the meantime, just advise whoever is looking after him that moving around should be kept to a minimum; getting up to the toilet and that kind of thing." The doctor smiled and Mike realised that his independent partner had not told the doctor he lived alone. "He's just getting dressed now and I'll get a wheelchair to bring him to you."

"Thank you," Mike repeated and as the doctor walked away, Mike crossed to the payphone. "Jeannie, sweetheart, it's me. Listen, could you make up the spare room? We're going to have a guest for a couple of days…."

The End


End file.
